at the time of that untoward event. I am cast down by grief at this evil
news, and the summons from Court has brought me in all haste from Milan.
The lack of news from Condillac has been for months a matter of surprise
to me. My father's death may be some explanation of this, but scarcely
explanation enough. However, madame, I count upon it that you will be
able to dispel such doubts as I am fostering. I count too, upon being
at Condillac by the end of week, but I beg that neither you nor my
dear Marius will allow this circumstance to make any difference to
yourselves, just as, although I am returning to assume the government of
Condillac as the Court has suggested to me, I hope that yourself and my
dear brother will continue to make it your home for as long as it shall
pleasure you. So long shall it pleasure me.

"I am, my dear marquise, your very humble and very affectionate servant
and stepson,

"FLORIMOND"

When she had read to the end, the Dowager turned back and read aloud
the passage: "However, madame, I count upon it that you will be able to
dispel such doubts as I am fostering." She looked at her son, who had
shifted his position, so that he was now confronting her.

"He has his suspicions that all is not as it should be," sneered Marius.

"Yet his tone is amiable throughout. It cannot be that they said too
much in that letter from Paris." A little trill of bitter laughter
escaped her. "We are to continue to make this our home for as long as it
shall pleasure us. So long shall it pleasure him!"

Then, with a sudden seriousness, she folded the letter and, putting her
hands behind her, looked up into her son's face.

"Well?" she asked. "What are you going to do?"

"Strange that he makes no mention of Valerie" said Marius pensively.

"Pooh! A Condillac thinks lightly of his women. What are you going to
do?"

His handsome countenance, so marvellously like her own, was overcast. He
looked gloomily at his mother for a moment; then with a slight twitch
of the shoulders he turned and moved past her slowly in the direction
of the hearth. He leaned his elbow on the overmantel and rested his brow
against his clenched right hand, and stood so awhile in moody thought.
She watched him, a frown between her arrogant eyes.

"Aye, ponder it," said she. "He is at La Rochette, within a day's ride,
and only detained there by a touch of fever. In any case he promises to
be here by the end of the week. By Saturday, then,